His Indecent Demands (Bound and Shackled to the Billionaire) Read Online Free PDF Page B

speculatively – is Channing Crawford.
    And not Channing Crawford.

7
     
    She can’t take her eyes off him.
    He’s every bit as handsome with those blazing blue eyes and chiseled features. The main difference is that he has longish hair that falls almost to his shoulders – unlike Channing, who sports short hair to the point of a buzz cut. He wears a five o’ clock shadow in his rugged jawline. He’s dressed in a dark shirt, over which he slings a black jacket. His jeans are also black. He resembles the night itself.
    He smiles at her, and it’s dazzling.
    “Interesting,” he says. He has the exact same voice as Channing.
    She wonders if he is Channing himself in another guise, and he has just put on a wig in some bizarre role play which he expects her to participate in. Yes, that’s a very real possibility.
    “Ch-channing?” she says.
    “I can be him if you wish me to be.” He looks around the kitchen as if he’s never seen it before. “Nice place my brother has got here. He’s done very well for himself. And who are you? A lover? Certainly not a wife, I’ll bet. That was never in his spec sheet.”
    A brother? An identical twin, more like. She can only stare at him as he steps out of the doorway. Her hands are still on her breasts.
    He motions to her crotch.
    “If you’re trying to hide yourself, you need to hide more than your upper half.”
    Her distressed hands flutter to her crotch, revealing her breasts. She quickly covers her nipples again with one hand while the other stays at her pubis, which she now is certain is also exposed.
    He moves closer, and she backs away. He is an unknown quantity, and everything about this situation screams wrong.
    “You’re beautiful,” he remarks, his eyes admiring. “My brother always had good taste in women. Notwithstanding what he did to her .”
    There’s an undercurrent here. Something is certainly not right. She retreats as he keeps on coming closer, until she bumps into the kitchen counter. She has nowhere to go.
    “Please,” she says.
    “Please what?”
    “Please don’t . . . ”
    He is two feet away from her now. She wonders if she is in any danger. The way he appraises her – like she is something to eat – is deeply unsettling. Out of the corner of her eyes, she spies the knife rack. She wonders if she should reach for it.
    His nostrils flare as his pupils dilate. “I should take you right here on the table. Take you as he has taken her .”
    Her heart skips several beats.
    Her instincts are right. She is in danger.
    Just then, the robot takes it in mind to nudge his ankle.
    “What the – ?”
    He looks down, startled. She takes the opportunity to fling herself across the counter to grab a kitchen knife.
    Rough hands seize her waist. The rack tips over, scattering the knives out of her reach.
    “No!” she screams, and tries to twist her body away.
    But he is very strong. His arms hold her in a vise grip. One hand reaches for her struggling head and grasps her hair.
    Oh my God, she thinks weakly, I’m about to be raped. She now wishes she has taken self-defense classes instead of spending her evenings at the office.
    “Please, no,” she whimpers. This is not make-believe, she realizes. This is horrifically real.
    “Let her go!” says a voice at the doorway.
    They both look up to see Channing Crawford. He is staring at his brother as though he has seen a ghost.
    He blanches. “You. But you’re dead .”
    Her assailant releases her, and she clambers away from him to run to Channing.
    Turning to her, he says tersely, “Go upstairs.”
    “Surprised, brother?” she hears the other man say. “How long has it been since you left me there for dead? Ten years?”
    “That’s not how it happened and you know it.”
    She flees, her heart galloping like wild horses. Part of her desperately wants to listen in on their conversation, but fear lends her feet wings. She half-climbs, half-stumbles up the grand staircase and bolts down a